Chapter Christmas

Art was incensed.

Furious.

Super annoyed.

He wasn't ready to run an adventure off the cuff like this. He wasn't ready to lead five people through a game he had never read the rules for. He wasn't ready to teach five people the rules of a game they hadn't even heard of before this. He wasn't ready to do any of this bullshit.

He wasn't ready.

With those excuses and more, he demanded a few days of prep time.

No dice.

They were either excited to play, or excited to see him make a fool of himself. They wanted to do this now, by golly. Thankfully, he was able to put his foot down. After a fair bit of whining, arguing, and no small amount of teasing, they finally decided on playing after lunch.

So instead of a few days, he had a few hours.

This was great.

Wonderful.

Super awesome.

"These rules are so fucking stupid," he muttered, glancing over at the starter box materials. Character sheets, a single set of dice, and a premade adventure meant for three people. The classes were weird, the rules were weird, everything sucked, and he hated everything. Daphne could go to hell.

Whatever. Fifth edition was way more coherent than this garbage.

Time to do a bit of adaptation.

He would take them through a magical Christmas adventure full of fun and whimsy. Even if it killed him.

And they would fucking enjoy it.

"You can't," Art said, crossing his arms.

Percy frowned at him. "And why on earth not?"

"No homebrews."

"This isn't a matter of potions, so I'm not sure what you mean."

"Just pick from the list like everyone else, Percy."

"It's a perfectly balanced race, you know. No broken racial abilities or obscene stats. I based it on orcs, with a bit of elf in there. If you see here, the difference is that these stats are slightly higher, while those are lower. It makes them more ideal for playing a caster. I'm sure you've realized that I plan to play a Wizard, and—"

"You're playing a Wizard?" Ron repeated, failing to hide his confusion as he looked up from his own character sheet. "But you're already a Wizard."

With a snort, Percy looked away. "It's a foreign set of rules, despite my having played similar games before. Besides, Wizards here are unlikely to be anything close to what we have here in reali—"

Fred snickered. "Can't bear the thought of trying something new, eh Percy?"

"It's a fantasy game," he insisted, crossing his arms and stubbornly looking away. "Wizard is merely a name, not a descriptor. From what I've gleamed of the rules, it's completely different to what we practice, and…"

Percy trailed off and glared at George, who was yawning loudly and making a 'blah blah blah' motion with his hand.

"What about you, Ronald?" he said, instead choosing to ignore them. Smart move, honestly. "Will you be playing a Sorcerer, Druid, or even a Warlock?"

While Percy listed off some of the classes, Art sighed in contentment. These were so much better than the garbled class names that came with the game. Honestly. Lifeweaver, Spellslinger, or even Deepguard. The rules of S&S sucked, the classes were weird, and Art had no qualms about using what he could remember of 5E rules when he came across things that made no goddamn sense.

And that happened a lot.

Maybe he was just an old man, set in his ways. But at the same time, any system based on the older editions of Dungeons and Dragons was bound to suck ass. What even was the current edition? Second? Advanced D&D. What a joke. Art was merely using his future knowledge to uplift society, as any decent time traveler would.

That it exclusively benefited him was a happy accident, and nothing more.

Ron looked back at his character sheet and squinted. "I'm a Barbarian. I get really mad, and I have a big sword."

"I see… I suppose I'll have to do the heavy lifting when it comes to spells."

Harry perked up at that. "I still have spells, Percy! I have healing hands!"

"Lay on hands, Harry," Art corrected absently.

"Yeah, that."

"Oh? Are you playing a Cleric, Harry?"

"Nope, I'm a Paladin. I have a sword and shield, but I can also heal and stuff."

"Don't say 'and stuff', Harry. Just say 'I can heal'." Percy sighed, shaking his head. "Still, I suppose that's for the best. Young Ronald will be taking the majority of the hits, so you'll probably be healing him a lot."

"Hey! I won't be that bad," Ron said with a scowl. "I have loads of health. And I hit really hard."

Fred laughed. "Little Ronnie is right, Perce. Like as not you'll be needing all the healing."

"And what about you two?" Percy asked, glaring at his siblings. "Will you be so invincible as to not need any at all?"

"'Course we will," George said, clapping his twin on the back. "We're shadows in the night, we are."

"Flies on the wall."

"Rogues," Art said blandly. Then he paused, before adding, "Well, a Rogue and a Bard, technically."

One of them would end up playing the class like the other, no doubt.

Percy gave him a slightly skeptical look. "What do you mean, 'technically'?"

"They were insisting on either two Rogues or two Bards." He shrugged. "It was a close thing, but I made them choose one of each. I'm amazing, so naturally, I won."

And wasn't that a harrowing conversation to have.

He ended up forcing one of them to play the Bard, while the other could be a Rogue. They agreed, after no small amount of grumbling. Hurray for divine JM powers.

It would probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he savored the victory all the same.

It was time.

This was something that his players kept repeating, and Art himself kept ignoring in order to stall for time.

But eventually, he had to confront the reality of the situation.

It was time. And he was ready.

Well, sort of.

In any case, there was no room for self-doubt at this point.

Art took a deep breath, then he cleared his throat.

"Right, is everyone ready? Too bad, we're starting. Here's the intro."

Ron scratched the back of his head. "So what are we all doing on this ship?"

Art glared at them all. "None of you were listening at all, were you."

He half expected as much.

"I mean, I was," he said sheepishly, "but you were going on for a while. It's a lot to keep track of, is all. Almost a lecture, no offense."

"Offense taken," Art snapped back. His monologues were second to none.

"I had no trouble following it," Percy said, placing a hand on his chest. "Rest assured, that I can lead our party through any story hurdles."

Fred leaned over and peered down at Percy's stack of parchments.

"Are you taking notes, Percy?"

Percy snorted. "Obviously. There's no telling when some obscure bit of information will come in handy later on."

"Merlin's ghost, this really is a lecture."

With a sigh, Art turned back to the beginning of his script. "If you all insist. I shall repeat my tale."

"Oh no, no no," George said, chuckling nervously. "That won't be necessary. We definitely understand. We get it. No need to go through all of that again."

"Really." Art wasn't convinced at all. "Then do tell, what task have you been hired to do?"

"We've been hired by the prince to guard the cruise barge Nakato—"

"Shush. Not you, Percy. I know you've been listening."

George, looking a bit more uncomfortable now, glanced over at Percy for help. Art cleared his throat, shaking his head at both of them.

"Well… You know. The thing, that he talked about. The mission."

"Quest."

"Yeah, that. We're guarding the one thing."

Harry stood up, striking a pose and pointing grandly at Art. "It doesn't matter. Of course we accept the quest. I'm in. We're all in. Point us where to go, and we'll face down any manner of man or beast, for the good of all of us. I'm a Paladin, and I'll protect everyone from evil."

Ron nodded. "I'll kill anyone who gets in our way."

Fred put a hand over his heart. "I'll keep our party in high spirits."

George also put a hand over Fred's heart. "I'll strike at our enemies from the shadows."

"And I'll cast eldritch blast until my fingers fall off," muttered Percy, sounding unreasonably bitter as he organized his notes.

It had taken some convincing, cleverly disguised as whining by the other players, but Percy had eventually given up and agreed to play a class that wasn't a Wizard. A Warlock, as it turned out. Art couldn't care less. The argument was hilarious to watch, though.

Ron nudged him. "Chin up, Percy. You get a summon later, right?"

"Yeah, later," he said sullenly. "Until third level all I can cast is one measly spell between rests, hit people, and cast cantrips."

George sighed in contentment. "That's a right shame. Maybe pick a Bard next time? I get two spell slots."

Narrowing his eyes at him, Art frowned. "Aren't you the Rogue?"

"Nope, that'd be me," Fred said, lifting up his own character sheet and waving it about. "Not to worry. It can be confusing with us being twins, so we get that a lot. Might still be simpler to let us both be Bards… We can—"

"No."

He refused to be beaten so easily.

George shrugged. "Your call."

"That's beside the point, though," whined Percy, refusing to let sleeping logs die. "Is there any good reason we can't just start off at third level? It'd make me slightly less useless in a fight."

"Because I'm the JM, you're all rookies, it's less setup…" He paused, then added, "And because I say so."

"Your assistance in this matter is appreciated, to be sure," said Art, drawing himself up and deepening his voice as best as his prepubescent vocal cords could manage. "His majesty the prince will be present at this Winter Solstice gathering, as is tradition. And rumors have reached my ears that some unsavory types could be planning something untoward."

He paused, taking a sip of water.

Ron leaned over to Harry and stage-whispered, "What's he talking about?"

"We're fighting off some kidnappers, I think," said Harry, fiddling with a twenty-sided die.

"Oh, alright. Who is this guy, anyway?"

Harry shrugged, and it was Percy who answered this time. "The prince's advisor and close friend. The one who hired us for this quest," he said, still sulking about the class change like the whiny baby he was.

"Indeed," Art said with a laugh, "the prince and I have known each other since years past. My name is Lysaen."

Fred looked down at his character sheet, slowly moving his index finger down the page. "Does this honorable gentleman look like he's carrying any valuables? A necklace or coin purse, perhaps?"

"He's a nobleman, of course he's loaded," Art said, already starting to feel resigned. "Why do you ask?"

"Well—would pickpocketing be a stealth, or sleight of hand check?"

"Why are you pickpocketing your employer."

"We shouldn't be doing that, should we?" Harry asked, peering over at Fred's character sheet. "We're good guys. I'm a good guy, at any rate. Lawful good guy. What's your alignment, Fred?"

"I don't see how that's pertinent."

Percy perked up, smiling nastily at his brother. "Of course it's pertinent. Would your character do this thing, or would they not? It's a simple question, brother."

"Fine then, brother," he said. He looked down at his sheet and back up, a triumphant gleam appearing in his eye. "I'm a neutral, of the chaotic variety. Even aside from that, I'm a rogue. See? Stealing is just what this bloke does."

Harry crossed his arms. "Well, it doesn't fit with me. I'm a good guy, and we're a group of good guys."

"You don't know about it, so don't trouble yourself."

"Don't I?" Harry looked over at Art. Art was sitting with eyes half-lidded, wondering why he agreed to this. "Art, do I notice him stealing? I do, right?"

"I'll make a stealth roll as well, then. There, a fifteen. Happy?"

"Well I still know about it, right?"

"Stop metagaming, Harry," Art said, just wanting this argument to end. "Unless you want to make a perception check and get your party in trouble, just forget it."

With a yawn, Ron stood up and walked over to the center table.

"Oi, where are you headed?"

"Oh, don't pay me any mind. Gonna grab us some snacks. Anyone want anything? No? Just me? Right, brilliant."

"You still need to control your character, Ron," Art said with a sigh.

"He follows Harry around and does what he does."

George called after him. "Bring us back a spot of pumpkin juice, would you?"

"Blast!" Art cried, slamming his fist on the table. "The villainous wretch, who calls himself Hans, has kidnapped his highness the prince. How could you all let this happen? This is exactly what I hired you to prevent!"

George narrowed his eyes at Art. "Might be we could have stopped it… If we had a chance to fight 'em before they up and disappeared."

Well that was what they got for arguing about alignment for ten minutes.

Art waved him off. "That hardly matters. The only thing that matters now is for you to rescue the prince. Do this, and you will be paid in full. If you fail, however…"

"We'll be dead?" Fred tried.

"Well, yeah…"

"Seems sort of obvious, but alright. We give chase."

Art cursed, quickly consulting his notes. "Uhhh… Right, can't do that. As soon as Hans and the prince make their exit, a horde of kobolds run into the hall. They see you lot, and come towards you all snarling and screaming."

"Now hold on," George said with a frown, "seems we should have noticed them before now. That advisor type must have been distracting us. What was his name again?"

"You know…" Art said, fidgeting slightly. "I just said it, can't you remember? I'm not just gonna repeat this stuff all the time. Too many names getting thrown about for that sort of thing, so you had better—"

Percy checked his notes. "Lysan… Wait, no. Lysander. And it was suspiciously timed… You may be on to something there, George."

With a sigh, Art relaxed. That was a close one.

Fred leaned over and also checked Percy's notes. "Merlin, Percy. Your handwriting is awful."

"I write quickly, so it's a tradeoff. Not that you're one to talk."

Deciding to head off another ten-minute argument, Art cleared his throat and said, "Let's not get off track. You're getting attacked by kobolds. Naturally, I'll need everyone to roll for initiative."

"What about Lysander, is he fighting as well?" When Art shook his head, Percy groaned. "Where's he gone, then?"

"He ran off while you were arguing, obviously."

"Guess we didn't notice that either," Fred grumbled.

Harry looked over to the main table. "Ron, come on! We're getting into a fight!"

"Well it's about time," Ron said, running back with his hands full of sweets. "Who're we fighting?"

"Kobolds."

He frowned. "What are those?"

"Lizard dog people. They walk on two legs."

"Oh," he said, accepting the die that Harry offered and rolling it. "Doesn't seem very Christmas-y."

Art glared at him. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," Ron said, putting up his hands and shrinking back.

"Oh, fine. You want some more holiday spirit? We'll have some more holiday spirit," he said bitterly, crossing out several of his notes. "You only now notice that the Kobolds are all dressed like Santa's little helpers."

"They must have snuck on board with the crew!" Harry said with a gasp.

Fred nodded sagely. "They're more cunning than we thought."

"Right. Ron, you're rolled highest on initiative. What do you do?"

"I hit a kobold."

Art sighed. "Which one? And you have to move to it, first."

"Alright… Umm, let's see here," Ron squinted at the battle mat, then pointed at the group of figurines. "Which of those is supposed to be me?"

Leaning across the tables, Art picked up the one that looked somewhat like a barbarian. "This one."

"Really?" he said, sounding dubious. "Looks nothing like me."

"Just take your turn already."

"Fine, fine. I go to… That one, and swing my sword at it." Ron moved his figurine up to the kobold, then rolled Harry's die. "That's a twelve. Is that good?"

Art pointed at his character sheet. "Add your modifiers to the attack roll."

"Oh, alright," he said, trailing off and staring blankly at his stats. "What exactly am I supposed to add to that?"

"Your strength and proficiency modifiers."

Ron turned to stare blankly at Art instead. "What are those?"

Art impatiently gestured to Harry, who seemed to understand the rules slightly more than Ron.

"Proficiency is a two for all of us," Harry muttered, scanning Ron's sheet. "And your strength modifier is a three. So add five."

"Thanks, mate. That's a seventeen then, in all."

Art nodded. "That's a hit. Roll for damage."

Once again Ron consulted his character sheet, and Art was pretty sure he was beginning to see a pattern here.

His face scrunched in confusion. "What's '2d6' mean?"

"Two six-sided dice," Art said, nodding at the ones Percy handed over.

"These are just normal dice, though."

"Lot of different types, so they have to be specific."

"That's stupid," he mumbled, even as he rolled the two die. "Four."

"Add your modifier."

He groaned. "Fine. Nine damage."

"Just your strength, so that's six damage."

"Now hold on, why don't I add my proficiency to my damage?"

"You're not proficient in damage, Ron. Proficiency is only for skill checks and attack rolls for weapons you have proficiency in." Art paused, then waved his hand vaguely. "Until later on, then it also does some other stuff."

"Whatever. Six damage then. Do I kill it?"

"No."

"Brilliant," Ron said with a snort. "Guess that's me, done."

"Percy, you're up next."

Percy sighed in resignation. "I cast eldritch blast."

Art hated everyone.

"I still think that shouldn't have counted as an attack of opportunity," Percy said.

"It was your own fault for getting into the middle of a big group, instead of just letting us handle it," George scolded. "You have spells, you're not a frontline fighter."

"I used my only spell slot to save you," he hissed, glaring at him. "What were you doing in the thick of things? You're a Bard."

Fred coughed. "Actually, the Bard would be me—"

"Shut up."

"Friends, we can't let hatred divide us," Harry said, gesturing to all of them and clutching a hand to his chest. "We must stand as one, drive back the forces of darkness, and save Prince Horace from the evil clutches of Hans… Or whatever his name was."

At least Harry looked like he was having fun.

"That's a ten for knowledge of arcana," Percy said with a sigh. "I'm going to go ahead and assume that a ten isn't going to cut it?"

Art nodded. "You assume correctly. Your character tries and tries, but he can't figure out how to open the massive set of doors. The lock remains a mystery to you."

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are the doors sentient?"

"Why would they be sentient?" Art said, staring at him.

"Well, they're magical. You never know."

"No, they aren't sentient."

"But how can he tell?" Percy said, scratching the back of his head. "I failed my knowledge check, after all."

"They're doors," Art said blandly.

"So, I can't cast charm person on them. Is that what I'm hearing?"

"That's correct."

George leaned back in his chair, cradling a cup of juice. "Right, I'm out of ideas. You lot can handle this."

Percy glared at him. "Already? But you've been so helpful thus far."

"Stuff it, Perce."

There was a brief silence where everyone was content to stew. Besides Harry. Harry was having far too good of a time to be angry, which was both very endearing and perhaps the only reason Art was still putting up with this. Gods but that boy had some low standards for what he thought was fun.

Ron meandered back over to the table after a few moments, more food in hand.

"You ready to rejoin us then, Ron?" Art asked.

He shrugged, sitting down and looking around at everyone's glum faces. "Did we figure out the double doors?"

"I'm afraid not. The doors are just too clever for you lot to outsmart."

"Double doors… More like dumble doors," Fred muttered, wheezing in exaggerated laughter. "M-more like dum—"

"This is bad," George said gravely, "we're losing him."

Harry hummed to himself. "Can we use a battering ram?"

"It's not a hard puzzle."

"Me and Harry can break it down, right?" Ron said, starting to sound excited for the first time since combat had ended. "Let me just make an attack roll. We'll bust this thing open in no time flat."

"If you just took a few seconds to think about it, you could—"

"A-ha!" Percy cried, raising a finger in triumph. "Is there another way around?"

Art scowled and cursed under his breath. "You see a staircase at the end of the hall. It leads down into the depths of the ship, so you already know it's the wrong way."

"How do I know that? I never rolled for it."

"It's just so obvious that you didn't need to. Common sense, really."

George shook his head. "Still be best to explore. Could be loot."

"There's nothing down there. Just the engine room."

"Did common sense tell us that as well?"

"Common sense tells you that the door puzzle could easily be solved if you all could focus for more than ten seconds."

"I think it's for the best that we split up," Ron said, "that way we can cover more ground."

Art immediately began to panic.

"Miraculously, the doors swing open, clearing the way. At the same time, the path down into the engine room collapses, and common sense tells you that you'll never get past the blockage with enough time to also save the prince."

"Common sense is leading us down a rail, seems like," Ron muttered.

Dinner had come and gone, and it had been a fairly nice affair. Sparkling decorations and a wealth of terrific food and drink. McGonagall had gotten very tipsy, as well as a few others. Ah, the sweet smell of blackmail. The best Christmas present of all. Well, maybe not blackmail. Art would just think about her getting kissed by Hagrid whenever she annoyed him too much, and he would laugh at her stupid drunk face.

Art's secret desire was for his players to have stuffed themselves to exhaustion, and tragically be unable to play anymore. But apparently, they were having too much fun. Bastards. To add insult to injury, Dumbledore had graciously allowed them all some extra time to wrap up their session before heading off to bed.

Whatever. Art had never liked him anyway.

In any case, he had to wrap this shit up soon. These kids were all enjoying this too much.

"Ahh, so you have finally found us," Art said, drawing himself up for his big speech. "You may have fought your way past my other minions, but you still have me to face, as well as the rest of my kobolds. Unless I can convince you to let me and the prince slip past you?"

Harry scowled, "Not a chance, Hans! Your evil plans stop here and now, I'll—"

"Now hold on just one moment here," George said, holding his hands up in a placating fashion. "Let's not be too hasty. This could be our big break."

Harry whirled on him; his eyes wide. "You would betray us? For money?"

"Absolutely not. My character…" George paused, glancing down at his character sheet. "Frederic the Muse, he would never leave his friends out of a good deal. All I'm saying is we ought to talk this out, like adults."

Percy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is a slippery slope. Even aside from that, aren't we heroes?"

"We are heroes. And? So what?" George said, bringing his fist onto an open palm. "Do we not deserve to be paid fairly? I say we get what we can from this Hans person, then betray him."

"That's definitely against alignment."

"Accepting payment from a villain is already against alignment," Harry said. Then he looked over at Art, who currently had his face buried in his hands. "We can just take his things after we beat him, right?"

Percy nodded. "That's how things are done, usually."

Art sighed and sat up, glaring at all of them. "Are you all quite done?"

"Hold on," Harry said. He turned to the hunched over Ron and poked him. "Ron, you awake? Does looting the villain after we beat him sound alright with you?"

Ron swatted Harry's hand away, keeping his eyes tightly shut. "Alright, Harry. Brilliant plan, Harry. No problems I can see, Harry."

"Right, good," he said, turning back to Art and nodding. "We're good."

"Finally. You think you can defeat my splendid self so easily? Fools! You have not seen even a glimpse of my true power. Once my glorious machine has sapped the prince of his power and birthright, I will be all-powerful and unstoppable. Look upon me in these final moments, while my loyal kobolds keep you at bay, and remember my face before I end all of your miserable lives. Your last thoughts will be of regret, that you could ever hope to take on someone like me, and—" Art paused, looking down at the note that Fred was handing him. Flipping it open, he quickly scanned the contents before narrowing his eyes at the grinning teenager. "What."

"You read the note," he said, doing his best to look innocent and failing miserably because he was guilty and what the fuck Fred. "Let me roll for it, at least."

Ron perked up, glancing between the two of them. "Roll for what?"

Art nodded, and Fred beamed and winked at Ron. "Win or lose, you'll find out shortly."

Then he rolled his twenty-sided die.

Art glared at it, even as everyone else watched it roll with excitement and confusion.

A natural twenty.

If he hadn't already tried tampering with the dice to fudge rolls, Art would immediately call bullshit and kill Fred's character.

Instead, he sighed in resignation. "Yeah, alright. Roll for damage."

George cleared his throat. "Can he add my inspiration die to—"

"No. Not for damage rolls," Art said, shutting him down immediately.

This would be bad enough without that stupid Bard ability.

Fred rolled. Then he looked up at Art, his eyes practically sparkling. "Is that en—"

"Of course it's enough, you git," Art snapped, crumpling the piece of parchment he'd been holding. He tossed it over his shoulder. "You rolled a critical sneak attack on a normal, baseline, vanilla ice person. He dies. He dies so quickly and so instantly that it actually takes a few seconds for everyone to realize that his throat now has a hole in it the size of a damn grapefruit."

After that somewhat angry rant, there was a brief silence.

"Is that it?" Ron asked, blinking blearily and looking around. "Did we win?"

"I think so," Percy said, checking his notes. "That was the primary antagonist, and he did just die. I think we did it."

"Snuffed out like a fart in the wind," Fred said with a grin.

Harry scratched the back of his head. "Huh. That was… Disappointing."

"Blame the rogue," Art said.

Fucking rogues.

Percy scowled at Fred, who was now looking very smug. "Did you have to kill him before we could get any hits in?"

"I just ended the conflict before anyone could get hurt," he said, crossing his arms defensively. "You lot should be thanking me for being smart and using my head."

"Why'd you have to kill him?" Harry asked, sounding a bit put out. "Weren't we supposed to just take him down, then stick him in prison? Thought that was more or less the plan. Justice, and whatnot."

"The plan was to save the prince. And I think we've done just that," Fred said, trying to start his own slow clap. "Splendid job, team. Knew we had it in us."

Ron yawned. "Still, was sort of looking forward to the big boss fight."

"True," Percy said, idly playing with his die. "A big showdown sounds more grand and exciting, that's for certain."

Looking at the mixed emotions around him, Art cursed internally. This was annoying, but it wasn't the end of the world. This entire adventure was basically ad-libbed from the get-go. He could probably pluck something fun out of the blue.

As to why he was even making the effort, that's a question he decided to ignore as soon as it came up in his head. For reasons.

With a grand flourish of his hands, Art stood up. His voice was thunderous. "As your party is talking amongst themselves, the kobolds surrounding you are confused and without leadership. Near falling to chaos. Then a grand doorway opens, and in stomps a suit of steel and gold! Twelve feet high, with a glowing green core set in the center of its chest. The joints are gears and clockwork, and it holds a huge butcher sword in both hands."

"Now hold on a second," Fred said in outrage, much to Art's delight. "Who is this supposed to be? The villain is gone, we've already done it, and this thing just waltzes in?"

After a bit of muttering, Harry gasped. "It's the advisor! The one who gave us the mission at the beginning. This has been his scheme the entire time!"

Art grinned widely. There was an idea. He knew he liked that kid.

"Oh no," Percy said, noticing Art's malicious grin and shifting uneasily. "Think you got the right of it, Harry. We've been played."

"Tricked," Fred said bitterly.

"And quite possibly bamboozled," George finished.

Ron, finally looking interested in the game, squinted. "Already forgotten that advisor bloke's name, honestly."

"You're not alone," Fred said with a snort.

"Ahhh, I see you've already done away with that irksome insect," Art said, beaming at them and lacing his fingers together. "I was afraid you would be too weak to handle even that nuisance. When I kill you and send this vessel crashing down to the planet below, my survival will make for quite the tale. That's right. I, Lysanderoth, will take the power of the little prince for my own, and do away with my troublesome partner. Hans. That fool will trouble me no longer. All thanks to you."

"You fiend!" Harry cried, shaking his fist and trying to contain his excitement. "We'll never let you kill Prince Horace."

"Or us," Ron quickly added.

"Or us!" Harry repeated. "We'll defeat you, and you will pay for your crimes!"

Percy hummed, looking back through his notes with a frown. "This seems out of character for him… Very sudden. What's more, are you sure his name is Lysandero—"

"Don't make me drop rocks on all of you," Art warned. He could feel the headaches starting already. His patience was thin enough as it was. "Mark my words. Keep doing what you're doing, and you'll get an avalanche."

George laughed. "On a starship? How would that make any se—"

"Don't. Tempt. Me."

It was a disaster. No other word for it. But that was fairly inevitable, given who was playing and Art's own lack of preparation. There was yelling and confusion, betrayal and rules-lawyering, alignment fights, and actual fights. Until, at long last, McGonagall stormed into the room and forced them to put an end to the session before she put an end to all of their worthless lives. That was the mood she was in, at any rate, if not an actual quote.

As for Art? He was frustrated, no doubt. And he was fairly certain he never wanted to do this again. Daphne could eat her heart out, and Art would be tempted to carve it out and feed it to her the next time he saw that miserable bitch. He'd at least have a few choice words for her.

In the end, there was laughing, yelling, raging, and loads of petty vengeance between the six of them.

It was the best Christmas Art had ever had.